Sundered Heart
by Primary
Summary: Follow up story to "Armored Heart." The story follows fCousland and Alistair as they deal with the aftermath of the Blight and the consequences of their choices. /Rated M just in case. First draft.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to BioWare. This is a follow-up piece to Armored Heart.

Chapter 1

The ground shakes beneath their feet as a beacon of light cuts into the sky, parting the clouds and filling the night, for a dazzling moment, with blinding light. The darkspawn surrounding the column of light are immediately vaporized. Energy, like a great thunderstorm, cracks and twists across the ground followed by a deafening screech. The cacophony crashes into them like a great wave and men, elves, dwarves and darkspawn tumbled to the ground.

For a moment, all is still, their ears ring and their vision blurs from the glare. And then light is slowly sucked into the ground and darkness settles over them again, bringing with it a relentless drizzle of rain. In a slow haze the soldiers staggers back up on their feet, some scrambling for their weapons while others struggle to find their footing.

The darkspawn reacts faster; with anguished howls and squeals of anger they stumble back, scrambling over each other to flee. "On them!" A voice calls, summoning the scattered men. With a triumphant cry they fall after darkspawn. "Let them pay ten times for every life they took!"

Fergus wastes no time, his weapon and shield carelessly discarded as he rushes across the battlefield to Rowena. His mind reels through every scenario, one worse than the other. The Archdemon is nothing more than a smoldering carcass of melting flesh and bones with dark, acidic blood sizzling in the rain. He finds Alistair by the carcass, pushing away molten scales and charred bones.

"We need a healer!" Fergus bellows, grabbing a piece of charred flesh, uncaring of the heat that seeped through his gloves.

"By the Maker,"Alistair exhales; his breath ragged and strained as he carefully pulls out the blackened form of what Fergus knows is his sister.

Her armor is charred, dented and cracked by the heat. The leather-straps and the woolen stuffing are melted and twisted into unrecognizable shapes. Alistair yanks off her helmet, which has, mercifully, protected her face and hair from the scorching heat. Her hands though are a vicious mess of twisted cartilage and bones, so crooked and bent that they look more like a tangled piece of wire than of her long and slender fingers. And the smell, the sweet, nauseating smell of burned flesh and bones makes his stomach lurch. He stumbles back and retches, emptying his stomach of slime and bile.

"Healer!" Alistair cries again. Fergus remains stunned by the wretched sigh. He cannot even begin to dare- nobody could have survived the heat.

But then, suddenly, her eyes shoot open and she stares up at Alistair, her eyes wide and shining with agony and fear. Her body convulses, her limbs trashing meekly against Alistair´s embrace and she opens her mouth as if to scream, but the only thing that escapes her lips is a wet gurgle and a trickle of thick, black, blood. Her breath escapes in rapid and pained wheezes, and Fergus recognizes it as the sound of somebody drowning.

"Rowena" Alistair tries, but his words are inadequate to do anything to liberate her from the agonizing pain that wrecks through her body. Her blue eyes darts left, then right, before her eyes rolls back, showing only the white, and another spasm seizes control of her body.

Then Wynne is at her side, pouring healing magic into her body. Fergus can see the light rushing from Wynne´s hands and into his sisters´ wounds, sweat beading on the old woman´s forehead as she gives all of her energy. She chants, in a never-ending litany of enchantment, that sounds oddly like prayer. Tendrils of magic wafts about Rowena´s body wrapping around her hands, arms and cradling her head. The tremors stop, and her breathing seems to ease until her chest rises and falls in a steady, even rhythm. Her cracked and darkened flesh on her hands heals slowly and dead skin falls away and tender, and pink skin emerges. It seems like it takes forever before Wynne falls back, panting and gasping for air.

"That is all I can do for now" she coughs, fiddling with a small potion of lyrium that she brings to her lips. "We need to get her someplace clean so I can tend to her wounds properly."

Wordlessly Alistair rises, cradling Rowena tenderly against his chest. Her limbs hang lifelessly as if she´s nothing more than a rag doll.

They make their way through the battlefield, uncaring of the scenes unfolding around them. Wounded soldiers crying for aid, dying darkspawn hissing and growling as soldiers go about ending them.

"The main hall is mostly unharmed," Leliana informs them as she falls to their side. Somewhere she has abandoned the royal costume and is clad only in a thin leather jerkin and travelling pants.

"It might be the best place to set up a temporary infirmary."

Fergus kicks the chairs away from the table and grabs the drapes from the walls and covers the table. Alistair carefully lowers Rowena onto the makeshift bed, balling up his cloak to use as a pillow. Afterwards he stands, helplessly staring at Rowena and then at Fergus.

Wynne rolls up her sleeves and fastens her disheveled hair with a pin.

"Gentlemen," she says firmly, but softly "there is nothing more you can do here, but there are many more outside that needs your help. Alistair, you have a kingdom to secure."

The young king hesitates for a moment, and Fergus can see him balling his hands into fists and his posture tensing. He expects him to voice his protests, but with a sullen, determined nod, Alistair turns on his heels and stalks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Leliana, see if you can find any bandages, if not, collect some shirts. Find somebody to boil us some water. " Leliana nods once, and then disappears into the keep, leaving Fergus alone with his sister and Wynne.

"Wynne, if you think I am leaving-" he starts, but the old mage simply smiles at him.

"I expect no such thing, Teryn Cousland. I will, however, require you to be useful."

"Tell me what you need," he states firmly.


End file.
